


free/fall

by iwaoiks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, side iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoiks/pseuds/iwaoiks
Summary: “It’s proof,” Takahiro replies. Proof that we were here. Proof that I love you.At 17, Takahiro learns.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	free/fall

On the road to school, there’s a cherry blossom tree. It stands, just this side of crooked, a little ways away from Takahiro’s home. He passes by it every day, but never really takes notice of it. It’s spring now. The flowers have bloomed and fallen all over the sidewalk, on his shoulders, in his hair. Takahiro shakes it all off.

He’s standing in an empty classroom, late for volleyball practice, the cherry blossom tree beyond his periphery. Issei stands before him, late for volleyball practice too.

“I like you,” Takahiro says, his voice trembling. His hands are trembling too.

It’s spring. Takahiro’s never cared much for seasons changing, but he thinks spring is as a good a time as any, for a confession. Issei doesn’t say anything. A quiet breeze flutters the curtains by the open windows. Issei doesn’t say anything.

Takahiro steps towards him.

Oikawa had asked, when Takahiro told him to cover for them with the coach, _Why today?_

Takahiro turned towards him, eyebrow raised.

 _Why today?_ Oikawa asked again, head tilted curious. _Why not confess any other day?_

To this, Takahiro only grinned. _Well_ , he said, a glint in the sunlight, _why confess any other day?_

“I like you, Issei,” Takahiro says again, trembling still. He’s close enough now to see that Issei’s trembling, too. A stray cherry blossom petal gets carried by the wind, falls onto a desk beyond Takahiro’s periphery. They’re late for volleyball practice. Oikawa’s covering for them, but Takahiro knows he can only do so much before coach sends off a search party looking for them. They should get going, soon.

Takahiro’s hands clench into fists, then unclench. He takes a half-step forward and kisses Issei.

Issei startles, a stutter against Takahiro’s mouth; then Issei kisses back. “Okay,” he breathes, to the press of Takahiro’s lips. His hands cradle Takahiro by the waist. “Okay.”

* * *

Volleyball practice is every day except Mondays. It’s Monday today.

Takahiro waits for Issei, leaning against the doorway to his classroom when school ends. Issei’s busy stuffing textbooks into his bag, tall and awkward in the afternoon light, not noticing Takahiro yet. His hair is a mess atop his head. His eyebrows just this side of crooked. Awkward and handsome in the afternoon light.

“Hey,” Takahiro calls, when Issei looks up at him. Issei’s face lights up with a smile.

“Hey,” he replies, soft as the light. He walks over to Takahiro. Takahiro smiles at him for a short, quiet moment, before slipping out the doorway with Issei in tow.

“Wanna come home with me?” he asks, just as they’re crossing the school gates. There’s homework to do and plays to review, and Takahiro’s mother is baking cookies. They’d just bought a carton of lychee juice yesterday that nobody in the house likes except for Issei, and Takahiro’s room is small when he’s alone and even smaller when Issei and his terribly long limbs are added to the mix, and Mondays feel the most like home because that’s when Issei comes to visit.

 _Wanna come home with me? Every day. Every day_.

“Sure,” Issei says, a smile on his face. Takahiro’s knuckles brush against the back of Issei’s hand. They turn the corner to Takahiro’s house, homeward-bound.

* * *

“Argentina?” Takahiro asks, at the same time Issei says, “California?”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa nod. They’re sitting in Iwaizumi’s living room, limbs folded in memory; Issei in the same armchair he always sits in, Takahiro on the floor right in front of him. Oikawa and Iwaizumi sit on the floor, too, on the side of the low coffee table adjacent to Takahiro, side-by-side like they always do. Hands finding each other below the table, as they always do.

“For how long?” Issei asks, behind him. When Takahiro glances over his shoulder to look at him, he thinks Issei’s face is lined differently. Like Oikawa and Iwaizumi wandering off to the other side of the world is any surprise. Like he’s scared to see them leave.

Takahiro looks back at Iwaizumi.

He shrugs. “A few years,” he answers, steady as he always is. He gives a little smile, crooked. “I have to get accepted first, though.” Beneath the coffee table, his hand squeezes Oikawa’s hand. Takahiro looks up at Oikawa, then.

He’s smiling. Takahiro’s not Iwaizumi, but he can tell that it’s the sad kind. “Long,” he answers, not explaining any further. His hand squeezes Iwaizumi’s back.

“Oh,” Issei says, quiet above Takahiro.

Takahiro takes in a deep breath. _Long_. He doesn’t stop to wonder what that means. Whatever that means— he knows them both. He knows them both, so it doesn’t matter.

“Jesus,” he says, breaking into a big, brilliant smile, “you two don’t know how to fucking settle, do you?”

Oikawa grins at that and Iwaizumi breathes out a laugh, and they’re still holding hands beneath the table, and Takahiro is so fucking proud of them both that he feels his heart is about to burst. He looks up at Issei. He’s smiling, too, but Takahiro is Takahiro, and he can tell that it isn’t real.

* * *

“One last hurrah,” is what Oikawa calls it, languid body facing the sea. His face shines with a smile, hands on his hips, hair swept by the wind. “Before we graduate and Iwa-chan abandons us so he can go to America to chase his dreams and forget all about us, we should have one last hurrah.”

“ _You’re_ leaving too,” Iwaizumi says, irritated, but it doesn’t really have any bite to it. His face is softened by the quirk of his own smile. “Sappykawa,” he adds, hand reaching out to ruffle Oikawa’s hair.

They’re at the beach on the tail end of summer. Oikawa’s _last hurrah_ involves the four of them barefoot by the sea, an old polaroid camera that belongs to Oikawa’s sister, a tripod, and 10 sheets of colourful stickers. Takahiro’s feet dig into the sand, sandals in one hand; it’s one of the last few warm days left before the autumn chill seeps in, and Takahiro doesn’t give a crap about last hurrahs, but he’d never say no to a day spent by the beach.

Oikawa brandishes the camera and sheets of stickers. “A photoshoot,” he grins, and Takahiro thinks _of fucking course_. “Iwa-chan can take the pictures since Iwa-chan is so ugly anyway!” he adds cheerfully, because of fucking course. Takahiro snickers.

“500 yen says Iwaizumi throws Oikawa into the water,” Takahiro says, to Issei. With three years under their belts, they’re both more than a little used to this. The two share a knowing look between them, Issei mirroring Takahiro’s grin.

“No bet,” he replies, watching as Iwaizumi starts to chase Oikawa down the shoreline.

Takahiro laughs, sound carried by the breeze. The sun shines high above them. The ocean waves. Yeah. He’s used to this.

“Here, Makki,” Oikawa says, later, when he and Iwaizumi have finally settled down. Takahiro sits quietly as Oikawa starts putting small stickers on Takahiro’s lips: a cherry, a heart, a diamond ring. Oikawa himself has adorned some stickers of his own: a trail of stars at the edges of his eyes, to match with the stars he had forcibly scattered across Iwaizumi’s cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. _For the aesthetic_ , he’d said, when they asked about the stickers. Because of fucking course.

“There,” he murmurs, when he’s done. Oikawa pulls away to look at him. The smile he wears is softer than the breeze. “You look good, Makki.”

Oikawa picks up the camera and takes a picture, then. When Takahiro sees the polaroid film, he finds himself agreeing with him.

Takahiro hadn’t had the chance to smile, when Oikawa snapped the photo. His features are just on the verge of a grin, eyes beginning to light, pink hair catching the sun. The picture is discoloured, but the stickers draw the eyes to his lips. He looks pretty, like this.

Oikawa’s wiggling his eyebrows at him, waiting for a reaction. Takahiro rolls his eyes, relents. “Okay, fine,” he says, hiding a smile, “so maybe the stickers _weren’t_ a stupid idea.”

Oikawa cheers, satisfied. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he says, complete with a shit-eating grin. Takahiro laughs.

“What about you?” Takahiro asks Issei, when Oikawa’s gone back to Iwaizumi’s side. They’re bickering about where to set up the tripod, now. “Where are yours?”

Issei grins, tapping his ear with an index finger. A small cherry blossom on his earlobe. The colour matches Takahiro’s hair. “Oikawa gave me shit about it,” he says, a glint in his eyes, “so I figured I should keep them.”

Takahiro laughs again. He thinks the earrings suit Issei, with all their subtlety. His hair is a mess atop his head, swept back by the wind. He thinks the stickers suit Issei, with the pink of his cheeks at the sound of Takahiro’s laugh.

Later, when they’ve taken enough pictures to cover all four walls of Oikawa’s bedroom and then some, Takahiro sits next to Issei in the sand. Iwaizumi and Oikawa are off buying drinks at a nearby store, hands finding each other as they always do. Takahiro’s shoulder is just shy of brushing against Issei’s.

“Hey,” he calls, turning to him. Issei quirks an eyebrow up in question, and Takahiro grins. He moves, then, to sit in Issei’s lap, his hands cradling Issei’s face. Issei looks up at him confused, but his own hands wrap around Takahiro’s waist, anyway, pulling him close without thought. Takahiro is warm where the sun touches him. Takahiro is warm where Issei touches him.

He presses a kiss to Issei’s forehead, soft as the sunlight. When he pulls away, a cherry sticker is left behind on Issei’s skin, having fallen off of Takahiro’s lips. He huffs a little laugh, then kisses Issei’s nose next. A heart, this time.

“What are you doing?” Issei murmurs, his eyes a little hazy. Like he can’t believe Takahiro’s here, in his lap, kissing him. Like it comes as such a surprise.

“It’s proof,” Takahiro replies, his voice a low hum above the sea. Proof that we were here. Proof that I love you. Takahiro smiles into another kiss, a diamond ring on Issei’s cheek. “Proof that I kissed you,” he grins, pulling away just enough to look at Issei, “again and again, today.”

Issei smiles back. Takahiro is warm all over.

He leaves one last kiss to Issei’s lips. Takahiro’s run out of stickers, already, but he thinks he doesn’t need proof for this.

* * *

Iwaizumi and Oikawa come back with four cans of soda and a handful of milk bread.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Iwaizumi says, watching in disgust as Oikawa stuffs his face with bread. Oikawa whines.

“But Iwa-chan,” he starts, “I won’t have this in Argentina!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at that. Takahiro’s too busy trying to open his soda can to care about Oikawa’s dramatics; soon, though, he gives up, and turns to Issei to employ his help— but Issei’s not looking at him. His eyes are trained to the sea. They look the way they did in the living room of Iwaizumi’s home, like he’s looking at something too far to reach, and getting farther still.

“You’re so lucky, Mattsun,” Oikawa whines, nasally, and Takahiro and Issei both turn their heads towards him. “You get to visit Nakamura-san’s bakery and buy her milk bread whenever you want.” He even sniffs a little, for added effect.

Issei grins, not quite real. “Not my fault you decided to go to Argentina instead of staying in Miyagi like me.”

Takahiro looks at Issei in surprise. Before Oikawa can retort, Takahiro cuts him off and asks, to Issei, “You’re staying in Miyagi? After high school?”

Issei blinks back at him, like he’d just remembered. Like he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten to tell Takahiro at all. “Yeah,” he says, a quiet murmur above the sea.

Takahiro feels his head swim. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, soda can forgotten. The waves crash into the shoreline, roaring in his ears.

Issei averts his gaze, then. He shrugs, something strange about his gait, the way his eyebrows line crooked. The stickers are still stuck to his face. He looks a little comical, if Takahiro could find it in him to laugh. “I didn’t think it mattered, where I went,” Issei answers, quiet still.

Takahiro’s hold tightens around his soda can. He looks down at it. It sits unopened against his palm, wet and losing its cold. Takahiro can’t figure out what Issei means.

“I’m going to Tokyo,” he says after a beat, looking back up at Issei. At this, Issei’s eyes widen slightly, but still he doesn’t look back at him. His hair gets swept by the wind.

“Oh,” is all Issei says. Iwaizumi and Oikawa share a look, but Takahiro ignores it. Takahiro ignores all of it.

* * *

Later, when they’re about to leave, Issei peels the stickers off his face, one by one. Forehead, nose, cheeks. Cherry, heart, diamond ring. An act of gathering in his palm, a loose fist. Takahiro watches, quietly, as he throws them into a nearby trash can, the stickers fluttering in the slight breeze before they disappear completely.

Issei’s forgotten his sticker-earrings. Takahiro doesn’t say anything and turns away.

* * *

“How do you know?” he asks Iwaizumi one day after school, on their way to the clubroom. “You and Oikawa. How do you know you guys are gonna work out?”

Iwaizumi looks at him, surprised. He stops walking for a moment and considers the question. Takahiro pauses and waits for him.

“I don’t, really,” he answers, finally. Iwaizumi’s shoulder rises in a shrug. “But I want to try, anyway.”

Iwaizumi resumes walking. Takahiro thinks he may be blushing, just a little. _I want to try anyway._ Takahiro follows beside him, quietly.

“What about you and Matsukawa? Are you guys good?” he asks then, breaking Takahiro’s train of thought. Takahiro isn’t sure how to answer that.

Are they good? He thinks so. They still hang out every Monday, they still bother Kyoutani when the opportunity presents itself, they still get tired of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Things are the same, so he thinks it must be good. But he doesn’t feel so.

_I didn’t think it mattered, where I went._

Iwaizumi watches him curiously. Takahiro clears his throat and gives him a wry smile. “Not all of us are like you and Oikawa, y’know. Some of us don’t have the literal universe binding us as soulmates the way you two do.” He clasps his hands together, flutters his eyelashes, “ _Destined_ to be together always and forever.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles, lightly shoving him in the shoulder. He’s blushing even harder, now. Takahiro lets out a laugh.

They reach the clubroom, and Takahiro thinks Iwaizumi’s going to drop the subject, but then he turns towards him. His face is lined serious. “It’s not about being soulmates, or the universe, or whatever,” he says. Iwaizumi is blushing harder still, but his eyes are strong and steady. “It’s just a choice.”

Takahiro blinks at him in surprise. Iwaizumi opens the door to the clubroom, and drops the subject.

* * *

Sometime during winter break, Takahiro sleeps over at Issei’s house. His parents aren’t home, so they have the place all to themselves. Still, Takahiro sleeps in Issei’s bed. Still, Takahiro presses closer to him.

When he awakes, Issei is gone. The sun has just begun to rise in the sky, light enough that Takahiro can make out the outline of the room. It’s cold. The bed is empty beside him, the covers doing little to keep him warm. Takahiro shivers, lightly.

He gets out of bed. Makes his way to the bathroom, but Issei isn’t there. Through the hallway, down the stairs, a peek into the living room. Issei isn’t there.

He finds him in the kitchen. Issei sits with a mug of something in his hands, looking out the window, not noticing Takahiro yet. He looks strange, like this. The light that arcs across his face is pretty, a still out of a movie, or one of Oikawa’s polaroid pictures, but his eyes look so, so sad.

“Hey,” Takahiro calls, voice a little hoarse from sleep. Issei looks up at him and smiles, but it’s tired. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Issei shakes his head. Takahiro moves a little closer towards him, a few steps forward. “Just a bad dream,” Issei says, shrugging. The hands around his mug tighten their hold, ever so slightly; Takahiro wants to reach out and hold them, but doesn’t. “You should go back to sleep,” he adds.

Takahiro frowns. _I didn’t think it mattered, where I went._ “What about you?” he asks, soft. He wants to touch him, but doesn’t.

Issei is still smiling that sad, tired smile. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, just as soft. Takahiro frowns deeper.

But I want to, he thinks, as light fills more of the room. I want to. Won’t you let me want to?

“Okay,” Takahiro says, after a beat. He turns away from Issei’s smile, and the light.

* * *

At graduation, Takahiro stands at the school gates, facing Issei. The cherry blossoms have bloomed, falling all over the sidewalk, his shoulders, his hair. Takahiro shakes it all off. He isn’t trembling, this time.

“Let’s break up,” he says, voice steady. “Issei,” he says, steady still.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi have already left, hand-in-hand as always. They’ve all said their goodbyes, a set of polaroid pictures in each of their pockets. Takahiro’s mother is baking cookies back at home. They didn’t buy any lychee juice.

“Okay,” Issei says, far enough that Takahiro doesn’t notice his trembling. His hands clench into fists by his sides. “Okay.”

Takahiro turns away. On the road home, Takahiro passes by the old cherry blossom tree, its flowers matching the colour of Takahiro’s hair. He doesn’t pay it any mind.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://twitter.com/iwaoiks/status/1301686536874803200?s=20) is what lip sticker hanamaki looks like by the way hehe
> 
> big thanks to [kam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entrechat) for being my beta for this fic!! 
> 
> i'm so happy to have finished this!! it took a while and might not be my best work, but writing this helped me work through my slump and i am very grateful for it. thank you so much for reading! my twitter is @[iwaoiks](https://twitter.com/iwaoiks)


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